C
Captain_Napalm
Guest
A short somewhat-funny hopefully-meaningful true story I thought I’d share with you all…
A few months ago, I was at Sunday Mass with my wife, who was pregnant at the time, and our 2-year-old son, Gabriel. My son is, well… “energetic” is a good family-friendly way to describe it. Some days, I feel like the left side of my body will eventually be erased by his fidgetting. Of course, my parents would refer to this phenomenon as “poetic justice” because I was the same way. However, even my dad will admit that, while I may have been a wiggle-worm at that age, Gabe is a true master at it.
Anyway, I’m desperately trying to listen attentively to the Mass, but, somehow, it got lost on me through the incessant climbing on (and over and under) the pews and the dropping of everything and the rearranging of the missals and donation envelopes and the 34th “Whassat?” since the Mass had begun. I was starting to get frustrated and angry, which is not a good thing during Mass.
My mind started to wander, and I started to think of Jesus as a child. My wife and I had recently seen Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ” and the scenes of Mary with Jesus as a child really struck me. I looked up to the crucifix and, in my mind, I wondered if the child Jesus had ever driven Mary and Joseph nuts like this. I thought to myself, as though I was asking Jesus “Did you ever act like this in Temple?” Then, I thought that, perhaps, these were not the most poius or constructive thoughts to be having at Mass. So, I tried to think of other things.
I looked down at my son, who was desperately attempting to listen to his mommy’s requests that he whisper (all the while failing miserably at the task) and shook my head. You couldn’t help but love him. He really is a sweet kid, he just doesn’t have an “off” switch that I can find. I shook my head and tried to get my mind back on the Mass where it should be. Just then, we stood to pray the Lord’s Prayer. I started out, saying “our Father, who art in heaven…” with the rest of the congregation. Then, it hit me…
I really thought about what I was saying. I was calling God my Father. I put myself in my son’s shoes and I wondered how often God rolled his eyes at me. How many times was I the bratty little kid, disobeying what my Father in Heaven wanted me to do? How many times was I disobedient to His will? How little did I really understand of what God was asking of me, absorbed in my own narrow little view of my world? How many times had God tried to guide me by the hand, only to have me pull away like a petulant toddler, always wanting it to be my way? While I was being frustrated by my son’s misbehavior, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times had I done the same to Him. I felt as though God was giving me a glimpse into what we put Him through. I think it was God’s way of saying “let’s see how you like it.” It was a very humbling experience. I walked away from Mass with a deeper understanding of God’s love for us, His petulant bratty disobedient, but loveable children.
Throughout my life, I have probably said the Lord’s Prayer thousands of times, literally. That time was the first time I think I really felt what it meant to truly call God, “Our Father.”
A few months ago, I was at Sunday Mass with my wife, who was pregnant at the time, and our 2-year-old son, Gabriel. My son is, well… “energetic” is a good family-friendly way to describe it. Some days, I feel like the left side of my body will eventually be erased by his fidgetting. Of course, my parents would refer to this phenomenon as “poetic justice” because I was the same way. However, even my dad will admit that, while I may have been a wiggle-worm at that age, Gabe is a true master at it.
Anyway, I’m desperately trying to listen attentively to the Mass, but, somehow, it got lost on me through the incessant climbing on (and over and under) the pews and the dropping of everything and the rearranging of the missals and donation envelopes and the 34th “Whassat?” since the Mass had begun. I was starting to get frustrated and angry, which is not a good thing during Mass.
My mind started to wander, and I started to think of Jesus as a child. My wife and I had recently seen Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ” and the scenes of Mary with Jesus as a child really struck me. I looked up to the crucifix and, in my mind, I wondered if the child Jesus had ever driven Mary and Joseph nuts like this. I thought to myself, as though I was asking Jesus “Did you ever act like this in Temple?” Then, I thought that, perhaps, these were not the most poius or constructive thoughts to be having at Mass. So, I tried to think of other things.
I looked down at my son, who was desperately attempting to listen to his mommy’s requests that he whisper (all the while failing miserably at the task) and shook my head. You couldn’t help but love him. He really is a sweet kid, he just doesn’t have an “off” switch that I can find. I shook my head and tried to get my mind back on the Mass where it should be. Just then, we stood to pray the Lord’s Prayer. I started out, saying “our Father, who art in heaven…” with the rest of the congregation. Then, it hit me…
I really thought about what I was saying. I was calling God my Father. I put myself in my son’s shoes and I wondered how often God rolled his eyes at me. How many times was I the bratty little kid, disobeying what my Father in Heaven wanted me to do? How many times was I disobedient to His will? How little did I really understand of what God was asking of me, absorbed in my own narrow little view of my world? How many times had God tried to guide me by the hand, only to have me pull away like a petulant toddler, always wanting it to be my way? While I was being frustrated by my son’s misbehavior, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times had I done the same to Him. I felt as though God was giving me a glimpse into what we put Him through. I think it was God’s way of saying “let’s see how you like it.” It was a very humbling experience. I walked away from Mass with a deeper understanding of God’s love for us, His petulant bratty disobedient, but loveable children.
Throughout my life, I have probably said the Lord’s Prayer thousands of times, literally. That time was the first time I think I really felt what it meant to truly call God, “Our Father.”